And just plain wrong
by colorscope
Summary: All of a sudden, Rory's life has taken a disatrous turn. Her marital bliss with Dean Forrester unravels when she finds herself working for former classmate Tristan Dugrey, a ruthless business exec and notorious womanizer who has a knack for ruining lives.


**A/N: **Yes, I should update my other stuff. And I will. Someday. Oh, and can you believe it? I didn't write BNW and my name is not Huxley. If it were, I would be dead. And not writing this, obviously. That was my version of a disclaimer. There you go.

---

**And just plain wrong**

_1: Brave New World_

"Your credentials seem to be all in order, Miss Gilmore." he said briskly. "You can start work immediately. The cubicle 4F is yours. Any questions?"

She smiled at him coolly, her voice level. "Only one. If you could please call me _Mrs. _Forrester, I would appreciate it very much."

He regarded her for a moment. His voice betrayed nothing he might have felt. "Very well then. If you'll be on your way..."

He stood up from behind his mahogany desk to open the door for her, but she brushed off the gesture.

"No need." she said levelly. "I think I can find my way from here, Mr. Dugrey."

He reached for her arm and she recoiled, as though his touch were poisonous.

"Please," he said, his smile slightly mocking. "There's no need for formality between us. You can call me Tristan."

Her answering smile was contemptuous. "I'll try and remember that, _sir_."

"If you need anything..." he started.

"No offense, sir, but I've already wasted enough time as it is. I should really get going."

"Right." he said slowly. "You can get on your way now, Miss Gilmore."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked him warningly.

"No, I don't think I have." he said, smiling thinly. His eyes were unreadable. "Good day, Miss Gilmore."

---

It was impossibly hot in the cubicle. The air conditioning had stopped working, and the air was impossibly still. The clicking of keyboards was the only sound that broke the silence. She could not breathe.

She was proofing some insignificant report and downing a cup of coffee and trying not to care that she was here, and working for Tristan Dugrey for the past two weeks. Sweat slicked her ponytail against the nape of her neck and she was marking in apostrophes and rechecking dates and her throat was parched and her eyes were sore from staring at a screen for too long and none of this mattered in the slightest.

A corridor away, laughter could be heard and applause and glasses clinking. She peered over her cubicle to see him surrounded by a bevvy of businessmen and women in tight designer dresses. They were clapping him on the back and presenting him with an award and he was smiling graciously at them all, ever the charming boss. He whispered something into a woman's ear and she blushed profusely and the businessmen laughed--it was an ugly sound.

He suddenly caught her eye. His smile was a challenge. He winked at her, grinning, before returning to his admirers.

Rory felt sick to her stomach. It was all so _wrong._

---

"I assume you're coming to the company party?"

Rory whirled around in her chair to find him leaning against the wall of her cubicle, one pinstriped leg crosses neatly over the other. He smiled at her crookedly.

"Not this time." she said indifferently. "Me and Dean already made plans for the evening."

He chuckled. "How do you expect to rise up in the company if you never forge any connections?"

"Hard work." she said, as though this were obvious.

"Don't we wish things were always that simple." he said, laughing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You have a lot to learn, Ror."

Her posture tensed visibly. "If you could please call me--"

"I will, don't worry." he said, deliberately misunderstanding her implication. "In fact, I could pick you up from your house if that would make things easier. You still live with Lorelai, I assume?"

She looked at him with righteous anger. "I don't have time for this."

"You will _make _time for this." he said, with finality. His voice was dangerously low. "Do I make myself clear, Miss Gilmore?"

She glared at him. She suddenly understood what it meant to hate someone.

"Perfectly." she said bitterly.

"Good." he said shortly. "Expect to be picked up at 7. I do not tolerate lateness."

"Yes, sir." she said grudgingly.

"And, Miss Gilmore?" he called, as he was leaving her work station. "Do try and find something nice to wear."

TBC

**A/N: **This is entirely unfeasible, isn't it? But suuuuuuuch fun. Who wants to bet Tristan will eventually do a Clinton? Okay, terrible reference. And...ewww, I didn't mean _DO _do a Clinton, I meant--nevermind, then. And if I haven't scared you off already, review review review! You don't actually have to review three times, though. Once is great. Yes, I'll stop. G'night.


End file.
